Falling Short of the Spotlight
by intricate.bella
Summary: This is a Diary of Marissa Cooper: her harboured feelings and everything she chooses to hide from the naked eye.


**Falling short of the Spotlight – Diary of Marissa Cooper**

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I'm Marissa Cooper- average adolescent with what a normal human being would say- everything. What I would say? Everything- or lack there of. Every morning I somehow put together enough confidence to step one foot outside of my bed, and then once I'm out I wish I didn't. My routine conscience begs me to stay in bed so that I can hide from the lies I've pasted in my school.

I may be popular. Well, sht of course I am. I would be surprised if I didn't judging by the thousands of dollars I spend on my attire, hundreds on make-up and even more altogether on my scent. God, I don't even know how much I put toward my attitude- because when I look back at it all, it's not me, and it never was. I just somehow learned to lie, lie after lie after freaking lie. It doesn't change anything, anymore. People believe it all like little ants scrounging for food. They feed off me, like inhumane little leeches sucking the life out of me.

So, this morning was no different. My eyes were stuck together, as if someone taped each eyelid to the next. They forbade me to open them. My lips were dry, and slammed shut. They did not allow me to speak. How I wish all passage of air and respiration was closed so that my own life would forbid me to live.

What I have made myself is what people would die for. I would die to give it away. I see no pleasure in acting superior, and neglecting those who are not as fortunate as me. The unwritten rules, however, state to stay with the 'crowd' or be out. Who would I be with, if it weren't for my crowd? Who would I be without the people that follow me incessantly, honouring the road that I cross?

As much as I hate what I have become, I can't imagine anything different. My life is brimmed with lies and images of someone who I'd much rather me. It's also filled with a long list of unachieved goals, the real ones like- volunteering at the shelter, etc. etc. Instead, I have a few silly accomplishments that I would love to forget. But people don't let me forget.

They think that all I think about is being prom queen. People think all I do in the morning is apply make-up for hours at a time. They think that my favourite pastime is shopping- and really, I have practiced it so much it's not a favourite pastime, yet something I simply must do to get away from the house.

Speaking of which, might I introduce to you, my mother- Julie Cooper. One thing I never want to become, is a spitting image of my mother. I pray to God each night that the cliché 'Like Mother, like daughter' will prove itself a lie at least once. I am neither proud of her, nor willing to speak of her further- unless it's saying how much I wish she were dead.

On a happier note, Summer Roberts is the greatest girl alive. I know she doesn't have the same problems I do, but nevertheless we can relate all the same. She's beautiful, and everything the guys want. She's my best friend, and without her my world would shatter. This is one of the very limited reasons, of why I convince myself everyday to not break the lies with the truth- I know I'd loose Summer.

So this is my life. The life everyone wants. The life I really do not want.

Once I got up this morning, I pulled on the first shirt I saw. When I glanced in the mirror, I remembered- I have a reputation to protect, and last week's pizza stain would do none of that. I managed to find another shirt- it was too perfect for words. For my words. In the words of my vicious school- hideous. This is how I get dressed every single morning, until I finally find a costume to fit the actor.

This is how I see it. Every single day is like one huge dress rehearsal. Day after day, I have to memorize my lines as if I were to make a movie- by now, I consider myself a freaking amazing actress. At times, I don't even know how I pull it off. But I guess sayings do capture it all- the first lie is the hardest. I'll finish the sentence- the rest just flow.

I pulled on the final choice of the day- a cute, tiny top to match my adorable tight jeans. It perfectly matches the 'popular Marissa look'. However, it doesn't match the 'I desperately want to be me'. I dragged myself out of my room, and this morning was no different then all the rest. I saw my mother crawl out of her bed, her hair enveloped around tangles- her make-up torn down her cheek. She was a mess- even bigger then me. I figured she was having another hangover, or even a short-term depression syndrome. She looked at me with those blazing eyes, like I was the last thing on the planet that she ever wanted to see. I glared at her measly persona- how did she manage to be so powerful, when she was such a wreck? Sounds familiar- oh wait, it is! I do it everyday.

I walked to the bathroom and I gazed into the mirror. The reflection I saw flashing back at me, looked natural- looked like a decent me, until I had to slaughter it with make-up. I applied my eyeliner first. My hand was shaking intolerably, but I somehow finished. From the mascara to the lip-gloss, I kept thinking who I was- who I've become. As many questions as I was bombarded with, I could not find one reply. I gulped, and decided to walk away, and leave out the door before the mirror would swallow me alive.

I went back into my room, and then I started to pack up the empty sheets of homework I simply decided not to do. I hoped that the teachers would understand that I have a rep to protect- who am I kidding? It's not like they give a rat's as. I wondered why I even bothered bringing homework to my house- they were only good for starting bonfires, useless in any other prerogative. I swung the knapsack over my shoulder, a sudden guilt washing over me. What was the use of going to school, if I do nothing? All I really do is cheat myself, and mercilessly lie to the person that I truly am.

I left the house anyways. Without a breakfast, I got into my car. Glamorous, shiny, the rich girl's gold. I turned on the engine, and took it for granted- like everyday. I didn't notice the little note in my convertible's passenger seat, until I finally got to school- a grumpy pout screaming into my face. I went to take off my seatbelt, and then I picked up the little envelope, with my name written across the front in a familiar writing.

'To Marissa' it said. I smiled, knowing that this was my father.

'Have a good day, Marissa. I love you. I always have loved you. Take care, sunshine. Love- dad.' I tried hard not to read it aloud, but somehow my long grin wouldn't allow me to keep the words trapped in. I crumpled up the note, and I stacked it in my purse. I left the car with a particular dynamism in my step- I couldn't explain what those words had done to me. Maybe they put me in a better mood. Maybe. Just maybe. Until…


End file.
